


Slow-Dancing Spock

by vulcansmirk



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 16:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcansmirk/pseuds/vulcansmirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock takes some steps in the right direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow-Dancing Spock

When Starfleet Command initially imparted orders that the _Enterprise_ crew attend the diplomatic function on New Vulcan, the captain seemed pleasantly surprised. When Spock approached him later with his request, the man seemed decidedly gleeful.

“You want me,” Kirk began slowly, “to teach you how to dance.” He looked pointedly at Spock, the beginnings of an impish smile tugging at his lips.

“Yes, Captain.” As always, the Vulcan maintained an expression that was carefully blank.

Kirk just stared at him, the shadow of a smirk still hovering about his mouth. The light in his eyes suggested a laugh poised just beneath the surface.

“But I mean, even you must’ve learned how to dance,” he insisted. “Your dad’s ambassador to Earth!”

“My father is also a Vulcan,” replied Spock simply.

“Ah,” said Kirk. “Good point.”

He drew himself up, schooled his features. He could not fully conceal the sparkle in his blue eyes. “Well, Commander, I am at your disposal. I’d be honored to help you.”

Spock inclined his head. “Thank you, sir.”

 

~*~

They met in the captain’s quarters after beta shift, and though he paid visits to this sector of the ship with a high degree of regularity, Spock in this moment felt obscurely wrongfooted, and hyperaware of the empty corridor to either side of him. He buzzed the comm.

“Yeah, come in,” came Kirk’s response. The door slid open, and Spock stepped through.

Everything in Kirk’s room looked as it always did – there was the small shelf that housed the few books he kept with him, the desk with his computer terminal and a half-empty tumbler of scotch, the bed with the sheets perpetually rumpled. For a man with such a striking personality, Spock had always found Kirk’s quarters to be shockingly ascetic, as though he were in the habit of arranging his possessions in such a way that frequent relocations would be a straightforward undertaking.

In spite of the familiarity of his surroundings, the room felt somehow foreign to Spock, as though he were looking at it through a camera tilted just three degrees from level. He determined the reaction to be an emotional one, and dismissed it.

Kirk turned around then, the shade of a mischievous glint in his eye. Spock noted a set of speakers behind him.

“You ready?” asked the captain, grinning.

Spock nodded. “Of course.”

The grin did not fall from Kirk’s face as he turned back to the speakers and reached for them, pressing a button. Music at a volume so low as to be almost ambient drifted over to Spock, and with it, his world lurched; suddenly, he felt stable. Level. The song was one that Spock knew from his childhood, an ancient Vulcan melody adapted to piano for the recording but originally written for the Vulcan lute. It was one of the first songs Spock ever learned to play, though he doubted Kirk knew that.

The music turned out to be fairly pointless for the first few minutes of Kirk’s lesson, which he spent explaining to Spock where he should place his hands and where his feet should move when. Though the event was meant to celebrate officially the establishment of the Vulcan colony, as Vulcans had no traditional dances, the dance Spock endeavored to learn was an ancient Earth waltz. The dance incorporated a leading role and a following role, which in the day of its inception had been attributed to males and females respectively, in keeping with contemporary human ideas of gender normativity. Following first contact, and even somewhat preceding, gender had taken on a more fluid aspect in Earth culture; now, the leading and following roles were determined simply by personal preference. As Spock would be a somewhat prominent representative of his race at the function, he and Kirk deemed that he should familiarize himself with the leading role in the dance. Dutifully, Kirk took on the role of follower.

When they actually began the dance, it became clear that Kirk knew little more of it than Spock did. He knew where to place his hands, and he knew, in theory, where his feet should be, but on his part there were many blunders and a few mild curses as he stepped on Spock’s toes or simply lost his balance. Spock felt the warmth of Kirk’s laughter washing over him, intertwining with the music as though the piece were written for that very purpose. He felt the human coolness of Kirk’s skin, and, distantly, the mischief and the happiness and the certainty in Kirk’s mind.

It was not long before Spock became more proficient at the waltz than Kirk, much to his captain’s chagrin. They danced through the song from start to finish twice before Kirk finally reached over to turn off the music.

“Well, I expected that to be a hell of a lot more difficult,” Kirk declared. “Two or three lessons, at least. For a guy with a stick up his ass, you’re actually pretty light on your feet.” His eyes were turned toward the ceiling in a mock-pensive expression, but he looked sidelong at Spock and smiled.

“I shall take that as a compliment, Captain,” said Spock.

Kirk nodded. “You should. I meant it that way. And, uh, if you ever need to practice, just ask.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

A silence fell, and Spock knew he was expected to say his goodbyes and return to his own quarters. But something gave him pause, something small and firm and cool in the pit of his stomach. With two steps, he traversed the majority of the distance separating him from Kirk.

The captain’s smile took on a curious edge. “What is it, Spock?” he asked, but his first just continued to stare at him. He was looking for something, something in Kirk’s eyes.

Spock was not certain himself what he had been hoping to find, but he felt, somehow, that he had found it. He reached out simultaneously with his hand and with his mind. His hand touched Kirk’s, but only with two fingers.

Closing his eyes, Spock let something in his mind fall open. He allowed himself to feel, for a moment, what his captain felt – a small measure of confusion, somewhat more amusement, but above it all, a prevailing wonder. He did not seem to understand fully the significance of the gesture, but perhaps he was learning, for as the moment persisted Spock began to feel a warmth in his chest like the heart of a newborn star. He breathed deeply.

After a handful of seconds, Spock withdrew his hand. He opened his eyes just as Kirk looked up from where their fingers had been joined, and the expression on his face was one of distant bereavement.

Modestly, Spock clasped his hands behind his back, and stepped away.

The Vulcan searched for an adequate parting remark, but finding none, he said simply, “Goodnight, Captain.” He paused, then corrected himself. “Jim.”

Kirk took a moment to breathe, then responded, “Sleep well, Spock.”

Recognizing the phrase as one commonly traded among humans, Spock chose not to point out the fact that he was not going back to his rooms to sleep, but to meditate, and instead he dismissed himself in silence.


End file.
